


Choices

by Sayl



Series: Felileth Drabbles [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Difficult Decisions, F/M, Introspection, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sayl/pseuds/Sayl
Summary: After the war, Byleth is expected to become Archbishop and Felix is expected to take up his position as Duke Fraldarius. Neither want to choose this path, but Byleth still stresses over the potential repercussions of running back to her mercenary life with him.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Felileth Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732855
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Just another short tumblr prompt I wrote for Felileth

She’s not sure how he pulled her shirt off over her head with how much tension there is in her shoulders, but off it comes. From behind, she feels strong fingers wrap around those very same shoulders, the pressure pushing into skin and muscle as his lips make their way to the back of her neck. Byleth’s head tilts back in response, to the side even, granting him that access he seeks. The strap of her bra slips away as the kneading of his thumbs coax her shoulders to relax. Heavy breath slips past her lips as they finally break apart, the sound that leaves them seeming to reflect the need for release...whatever sort of release she can get.

There’s been so much on her mind. War is easy. Not on the mind or spirit or body, no. But in theory, it is easy. You work, you fight, you keep moving towards victory...and then you win, or you lose. Bloodshed and steel are things she knows all too well, and Felix hosts the same sentiments. 

Now, things are different. They did win, the war is over. But that doesn’t mean there’s time to rest, doesn’t mean they can go back to how things were before. The country...the continent is still in turmoil. This hard-fought peace is fragile as a sheet of glass. To act rashly could shatter it, and the cycle would start over again. And they might not live through it this time. Who can say?

The path before her now isn’t a trail of smoke and crimson. Instead, it’s split. One branches off towards a life of high walls and white silk, of power and high praises...but it reeks of confinement and stagnancy. Chains of light and justice are still chains in the end. It’s the path everyone is pushing her towards, telling her they need her to take up the mantle in Rhea’s stead. Everyone but him. 

He waits at the fork in the road, waiting for her to decide. But she can see which path he looks to. One shrouded in shadow and uncertainty, but with the familiar scent of dirt and steel and crackling fire and brisk night air. The same path that she keeps looking to in turn. The selfish choice, she knows. But does that really make it the wrong one?

But that road disappears entirely when his hands roam across her body. Calloused fingertips drag roughly across scarred skin. For every piece of clothing that slips away, a present thought that plagues her mind falls away as well...even if only for the time being...Until the only thing left in her head is him.

And she welcomes that reprieve. She embraces the closeness and contact and connection she feels with him that she’s never found with another soul. For all his tough exterior and tendency for harsh words, never has there been dishonesty or softened blows from him. He may wear his thoughts on his sleeve and keep his heart buried deep, but she’s seen it. He let her in so she could touch it. And though her own may not beat, he makes her feel as if it does. She doesn’t understand softness or classic romance and he doesn’t care for it. Their affections for each other are blatant and raw...

As raw as the desire that quickly builds in her core, slickness pooling between her thighs at just the teasing of his wandering hands. It isn’t until she feels the mattress against her knees that she fully registers how close she is to the bed. Byleth falls forward, hand grasping at the sheets as she feels the pressure of his own body against hers pin her there. 

Spread your legs and try to tell me about your day, he says. 

A scoff of a laugh leaves her lungs, but it sounds more like a longing huff since her cheek is resting flat against the mattress. “ You really want to hear about Rhea and Seteth while you’re fucking me ?” She can’t really say she’s calling his bluff, though. Not when he clearly doesn’t expect her to get a coherent word out once he gets started...not with the smirk in his voice and the taunting way he says ‘try’. She doesn’t expect an answer to that, and therefore isn’t surprised when she doesn’t get one...at least, not a verbal response. 

His hands do respond, however, sliding their way down her back and over her hips, pressing down into the softer flesh of her ass and thighs before grabbing hold, spreading her legs further apart with a strange and tauntingly slow sense of impatience. The head of him presses against her folds, drawing a lengthy but sharp inhale from her in response. He hesitates only to tease her, she knows this. And she isn’t one to complain about it, far from it even. Fingers grip tightly at the sheet as she tugs it toward her, hips rotating and pushing back against his own in an attempt to take what she wants. But he’d never make it so easy, not when so much of his thrill comes from being the one to pleasure her (and much of her own thrill, if she were to dare admit it out loud). Felix’s hands travel up her sides now, faster, more greedy as they pass over her hips and slip between her stomach and the bed to slide across her breasts that press against it. A small moan bordering on a whimper leaves her as she rolls her back against him. The desire that kindled in her blood had begun to ignite, giving way to full-on lust. Even as his hands move to her wrists, grabbing hold to pin her down as he finally pushes the full length of him inside her...this is where she feels free. Hands that ground her only when and where she wants to be, not unseen chains that hold her hostage where she doesn’t feel she belongs. 

A long and heavy moan leaves her as he enters, one that grows in volume with every inch he threads between her thighs. The static in her head dissipates, filled only with the quickly building warmth that heats her blood faster and more fervently than any stiff drink could hope to. A warmth only accelerated by his hot breath on her neck as he finds rhythm, steady and strong even at the start of it. Rhythm that is soon accompanied by the melody of her own pleasured cries and the beat of wooden bedposts scraping across worn floors in pattern with every thrust. 

Perhaps it’s the ecstasy talking, perhaps she’ll still have to revisit all those questions again in the morning when the reality of their situation settles in again. But for now, she’s content to bask in what she wants, to be selfish for a while longer and let him fill her lungs and heart and mind for the night. For now, she’s content to let herself believe that she can choose that familiar path and take him with her. If he can abandon his title, then she can abandon hers.

And the world will survive it...

Right?


End file.
